


El sol y la luna

by barofgold



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-17 16:58:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barofgold/pseuds/barofgold
Summary: Alone in a village in Mexico Mickey finds that his goodbye to Ian at the border was not the end. Just the beginning of a new chapter that would change everything. (Including a new found affinity for pineapple on pizza).or, the mpreg post s7 au no one asked for





	1. One Month

**Author's Note:**

> honestly not sure why this idea has been so stuck in my head -- never thought I'd be that person writing A/B/O mpreg fanfic lol but here we are. this is intended on being quite the angsty fic, don't let the summary fool ya! sorry if that's not your deal.

A bicho (first word he learnt once landing on Mexican turf) landed on his arm. It was pure instinct that made him swat at it because nothing in Mickey’s nervous system or brain or what the fuck ever was working-- nothing. It was all one big blur of _oh, fuck_.

 

 **Fuck**.

 

Sometimes life tosses in a big old fuck you your way, a sort of gag joke. It’s like a lucky dip but instead of dollar tree gifts wrapped in newspaper you would get a punch in the balls or fail a test. Some people get a constant array of these big old life fucks to the ass to the point where they’re about to be prolapsed. And yep, you guessed it, Mickey was that lucky little person!

 

The ugly little test smiled back up at him. ‘Positive’ it read, and at this point in his life he would have been content to have contracted an STD or some kind of detrimental illness. Quite literally anything but this. Did there really have to be a smiley face on the pregnancy test too? Talk about rubbing salt in the god damn wound.

 

This was…

 

Overwhelmed, Mickey fell to his knees and barfed all around the rim of his brand spanking new studio apartment toilet. Luxury had never been this exquisite. Yup, that was pretty explanatory in the way of how he was feeling. He side eyed at the test, now fallen on the floor tucked half under the bath mat but the pink wording still clearly visible and he winced.

 

There it was.

 

He was pregnant.

 

*

Mexican sunshine wasn’t exactly his pal. But it seemed like they could potentially be on their way to becoming something like acquaintances. Look, it wasn’t any kind of white sands and Mojitos all the time kind of Cabo daydream. There was a beach and it was about six miles from where Mickey was staying but it was littered with unsavory folk. Not that he was exactly of the ‘savory’ variety, but new places new instincts and all that jazz.

 

Anyway, he slathered on another layer of SPF and glared up at the sun threateningly, demanding only a mild burn and for skin cancer to keep its distance. Beneath the complex Mickey lived in there was a variety of shops, a sort of diner and a kiosk. He had lived here for a little over a month, before that Mickey was bouncing around in shady little hotel dives. He had contemplated buying a car with the money that Ian had given him, that certainly would have made more sense from an investment point of view and he could have slept in it if things got tough. But it was also such an adult thing to do and he wanted to be able to eat without pulling his hair out and suffering from premature balding from the stress of having to find a job in a country where he couldn't even speak the language, had no credentials and was living under a completely different alias. The town that Mickey was living in was a small one, not the 'everyone knows everyone' sort but it wasn't pulsating with life and bustling constantly. It was slower and on the outskirts of Mexico, he figured it would be more difficult to find him and take him down that way. 

 

Obviously, it wasn't what he had pictured or even really what he had distantly hoped for. But it was something. It was more of a life than he would have ever been able to even dream of in prison and it was easier to breathe than it ever had been at ho-- in Chicago. He liked being able to have a routine, live at his own pace, not be burdened by the grayscale scenery of Midwestern America and all the friendly familiar fucking faces and their judgement. Christ, maybe he was a little salty.

 

He was currently finishing off breakfast and could feel prying eyes curiously drifting his way. When Mickey looked up he saw two men and a woman at a table, they weren’t doing themselves any favors in the way of being subtle and sort of stared him down almost as they chattered in their tongue, eyes continuously going up and down him like they were observing some kind of science experiment. That wasn’t a bad way of putting how he felt.

 

A few months ago Mickey would have had more than a little something to say about that-- he would’ve been all guns blazing and ready to square off in the middle of a little diner.

 

“Mira la marica embarazada,” the lady laughed as Mickey passed. He sure as fuck didn’t know what exactly was being said, prison grade Spanish and all, but he knew it was ‘damn, he seems like a swell person!’. It’s fine though, hardly his first rodeo and he can handle a little bit of back talk.

 

The bus system is pretty lax and there was supposed to be one fifteen minutes ago. Mickey has no clue what happened, if there was some sort of Mandela effect or something but he’s about be running late so he takes a taxi instead and subdues himself to the fact that he’s about to be robbed blind of two hundred extra pesos. At least he didn’t have to deal with the bus, there was something so depressing about it. No air-con and sitting in a confined space with dozens of people who don’t give a shit less about each other.

 

He was fidgeting the whole ride. The driver glanced in the rear-view mirror every few minutes, suspicious that he may have a picked up a tweaker or some shit. Mickey couldn’t stop biting his nails into his skin, rubbing his palms against his forearms and feeling like he was about to burst out of his skin.

 

“Grass yas,” he said fluently as the cab driver pulled up. He handed the dude the money and got out, practically bolting to the door and slipping inside of the clinic.

 

It was always the same, no matter the country or condition. Sterile and dull. Every minute bleeding forward slower than the last. He went and confirmed his appointment in broken Spanish, the receptionist looked at him funny and gestured for him to a take a seat. The fidgeting didn’t halt there, in fact, his anxiety was at an all time high. Mickey gripped onto his phone, feeling eyes pouring him from all angles and stared at his screen.

 

“I” the contact read. Him.

 

There were no messages. Mickey bit his lip and considered all the various different things he could say ranging from:

 

_Yo. I’m pregnant._

_Hey, man. I know you haven’t contacted me since dumping me on my god damn ass two months ago but hey, guess what, you know all that amazing sex we had? Funny story. You knocked me up. Should probably use a rubber next time, huh?_

_I think there’s a fucking baby inside me and I’m terrified._

_I’m alone and I don’t want this. What the fuck_

_I still love you_

 

“Milo?”

 

Mickey looked up. It wasn’t exactly the most creative or inconspicuous alias but he wasn’t going to spend his life being called something like fucking Jared. The frat boy horror would’ve been the end of him, for sure. The worst part of it was the regret when he realised that they don't pronounce it like My-Low but more along the lines of 'Me-Loh'. It kind of took away from any kind of familiarity he had convinced himself of having.

 

He got up out of the plastic chair that was sticking from the sweat on his body. A man, alpha, raised his brows at him and looked bordering on lecherous. That was the reaction he had almost always gotten from alpha’s. Mickey wasn’t exactly desensitized to it, but being an omega was like being a bar of gold or some shit. But there was some kind of additive, a little extra. A glint he was used to seeing when he was approaching his heat or something.

 

It made him feel sick to his stomach. He hoped that he was exaggerating, building up from nothing in his head.

 

Mickey quickly entered the room following the doctor.

 

“You speak English?” the man asked, looking at a clipboard behind glasses.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Ok. I am Dr. Hernández. So, tell me why you are here.”

 

Mickey’s jaw twitched. The urge to say something bitchy back was hard to resist but he had to respect authority and all that shit especially in a situation like this. Part of him hoped aimlessly that if he was nice enough the doctor would tell him what he wanted to here.

 

“I, um, I took a pregnancy test and well… I’m here, _so_...” he trailed off awkwardly. The fuck was he supposed to say? Hello, pregnant male omega. What more was there to it?

 

The doctor just nodded, not looking particularly fazed or even interested and then asked Mickey to lie down so that he could run some tests. It made him almost long for those TV doctors who were super sympathetic and warm to the touch, maternal almost. What a crock.

 

“Mm. There is a particular odour coming from you.”

 

Mickey raised his brows and looked down at himself self-consciously. Yeah, everyone had a scent and he knew that pregnant people tended to give off a very specific kind of scent but a pregnant omega -- a male omega at that? It was a different ballpark. He had no clue what exactly this scent was but it was enough to have the assholes at breakfast bitching about him right to his face and the guy in the waiting room leering at him like a blue balled motherfucker and this Doctor who was supposed to be a professional acting like fucking Elsa queen of the ice. Shit.

 

There was a variety of invasive questions ranging from 'are you a smoker', 'are you sexually active', 'do you take drugs' and 'what is your diet like'. _Diet? The fuck is a diet_ , he had said. Despite how many questions he was asked the talking was kept to a minimum and even though Mickey wasn't exactly the chattiest fella on the block it would have been nice for a little filler or at least feigned niceties because he was seconds away from losing it and this entire situation was so fucking uncomfortable that he had to grip onto the chair tightly to keep himself from bolting. He just wanted to go the fuck home, curl into a ball and ignore the world and everything that came with it for fucking ever. 

 

“Very rare,” the doctor murmured twenty minutes later as he went through the test results. “For your sort.”

 

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. _Sort_? “Male or omega?”

 

“Both,” he commented, without any sense of remorse or embarrassment for his tone. For one of the first times since meeting him the man looked up from the results of his tests to meet Mickey’s eyes and stated simply, “Yes. You are with child.”

 

There was that urge to projectile vomit again.


	2. Two Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and/or kudos would be sooooo appreciated!

There was an ache in his back that was next to impossible to reach let alone soothe. It was putting Mickey in the foulest of moods, the kind that he just couldn’t seem to shake.

 

His usual 9-5 was certainly difficult to exactly explain. With little to no grasp on the Spanish language and possibly less in the realm of technical skills required to get a job that wasn’t digging graves or cleaning public toilets. Yeah, money was tight and he had burnt through that cash money thanks to yours truly quicker than he could blink. The real world was tough. Bills, food and shit. All of it. So the only job he had been able to get was one where he washed dishes in a family owned restaurant. It required no talking and was actually something that he could do half-way decent, fortunately. 

 

Aside from that, he did have a business venture going, to put things nicely. Talking to guys on porn sites was decent enough pay and came to him easier than pie. Mickey was considering dipping his toes in the water and maybe doing some cam work, he did it once but ended up weirding himself out about three minutes in but he could feel himself building up to it in his desperation. 

 

So far so good though. 

 

As he walked the fifteen minute stroll back to the apartment from his shift he stopped by the grocery store. It gave him the jitters being in a place like a supermarket, where he knew his face was being caught on film. It wasn’t going to happen (he told himself) but the possibility of someone somewhere seeing his face and recognising it and that sending him back inside for the rest of his god damn life was terrifying. He hadn’t been able to deal with facing nine years. Who could deal with forever? The price of freedom was a steep one. But fresh air made it easier.

 

Mickey dumped his assortment of junk food into his cart before going for the real food (milk, eggs, bread). Diary bullshit. It was funny, the things an adult did. Buying food like it was a life decision of some sort. 

 

A beta started to walk down the opposite side of the aisle and glanced in his direction. She had rosy cheeks and a soft smile. 

 

“¿De cuánto está?”

 

And yeah, okay, Mickey wasn’t exactly going to be teaching Spanish classes anytime soon. But from the way her eyes made a beeline from his face straight to his belly it wasn’t exactly hard to figure out what she meant.

 

It had been a month since his visit to the Doctor’s office and honestly he had been doing his best to put the whole experience out of his mind. No one needed to tell him how stupid it was but part of him still didn’t believe that any of this could, at all, be even remotely possible and if he continued to ignore it maybe it would just go away. 

 

The question brought back a familiar little sinking feeling and his shifted on his feet. 

 

“I, uh— ” he cleared his throat. “Necesito cagar,” he mumbled and quickly pushed his trolley away from her and went to check out his items. 

 

As soon as Mickey was out of the store he booked it back to the apartment. Christ, the reminder that people could fucking smell it on him was insane. He climbed the flight of stairs up to his apartment and immediately dropped the bags on the kitchen bench and went for his bedroom, standing before the mirror.

 

Mickey winced as he slowly pulled up his t-shirt to reveal his stomach. And honestly, it looked the same. Maybe he could see there being a potential bloating situation but nothing major. Something about that scared him even more. If strangers could smell it on - in - him before it even showed that was a bad sign. A terrible fucking sign.

 

There was a thing inside of him. A baby. It was growing in him and Mickey wasn’t doing anything about it. 

 

He took a deep breath and pulled down his shirt. There were groceries to put away.

 

*

 

After something which could be categorized as a mini breakdown Mickey headed out for a walk. He needed to get some more air and try to convince himself that not everyone in the world was watching him and thinking “hey, there’s a pregnant dude!” For some reason this had him craving going to a beach or something. He wanted to relax and unwind. It would have been a nice opportunity to hold hands with some lover and watch the sunset or something fucking absurd. As if that was going to happen though. Mickey knew that the scent of a fertile omega was certainly appealing to alphas but he doubted that it made them want to settle down and start a life with some bitch who was soiled with another alphas mark. 

 

Was that what he was now? Used up and belonging to someone who had probably forgotten he even existed. 

 

Get out your tiniest violins much? Fuck.

 

The walk had him stopping by his local elotería and that always put him back into a good mood. He sat on the sidewalk, switching between watching his food and the people walking by him. Just seeing people made him want to talk to them, build some kind of relationship or friendship. But it was hard. He couldn’t exactly just walk on up to someone and say “hey, let’s be pals“. Also he literally couldn’t do that. Who would have thought that Mickey Milkovich would have been craving a friend?

 

But life was lonely. Who was there to talk to about all of this fucked up shit. Anyone would have been good enough at this rate. Maybe he needed to invest in a priest.

 

He got up off the road and continued to walk, now needing to walk off the food that was snug in his belly, deciding that after about ten minutes he was going to head back home before it got too late. Mickey hesitantly let a hand fall down to it and gave it an awkward pat. He wasn’t sure why he did that or what it meant. 

 

*

 

 

The apartment was pretty cozy, honestly. Like yeah, it was in a shitty complex and there was nothing special about it. At all. But Mickey had a little two seater sofa and a plant he named Dolores who hadn’t died yet. In the day time there was lots of natural light that filtered in and he had a little book shelf which he had found on the side of the street and brought up. The book shelf meant that he was slowly piling up a collection of trashy magazines and the odd book that were basically given out for free from the feria. 

 

His mattress was on the floor but it honestly was amazing on his back, the support from the floorboard gave him the best night sleep possible. That was where he lay, the light from the TV dimly illuminating the room and providing him with a view of his new little life. Yeah, it was modest but it sufficed and he was close to content. More so than he ever had in life outside of the whirlwind that had been a world of Ian Gallagher. He was scared of all the possibilities, of what this new development meant and what it would bring in the way of change. But maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world? 

 

Maybe.

 

Imagining a mini version of Ian in his arms, giggly and bright and with flaming red hair actually sounded kind of nice. 

 

He wasn’t under any beliefs that he would be the best parent in the world. But he had first hand experience of exactly what not to do and that had to count for something, right? Doubts were hastily forming in his head and then being torn down by the picture of his fantasy Ian carbon copy child. A version of Ian that would love him, that would let Mickey take care of him. A little thing that— 

 

Too much, too soon.

 

He was definitely starting to get carried away by thoughts that weren’t even what he actually felt. No, definitely not. He had never had baby fever, not even in a heat. Mickey had always firmly been of the belief that omega’s were more than baby breeding machines. That he was worth more than that perception and he could do more than spread his legs and get swollen with an alpha’s pup. He wanted to be the person who didn’t crave the kind of life where he had a baby on his hip and got all paternal. That wasn’t him, never had been. 

 

Until now, with his mind going in every which direction, Mickey had never actively considered actually contacting Ian and telling him about the baby. Mostly because he hadn’t even been really thinking about it himself. But now that he was and he couldn’t stop all he could think about was what Ian would think if he knew. What he would say. And yes, some small, fucked up part of hims still hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe Ian finding out that he was pregnant with his child would bring them back together and be the missing piece of the puzzle or some shit. Maybe Ian would want the kid, want to raise it himself and maybe it would be enough for him to drop everything and come to take care of his pack. Maybe it would make him realize everything that he had lost and take a chance at the final opportunity that had struck. Maybe.

 

At this rate, Mickey was becoming something close to a hopeless romantic. Everyone knew that was just a nice way of saying pathetic.

 

But Ian was good at everything, always had been. He was charismatic and had a natural knack for life and taking it by the balls. Mickey just had a firm hand and the only time he got what he wanted in life was by threatening to knife someone for it and when he did that karma slapped him several times as hard and then shoved a fist down his throat just for good measure. Ian would be a kick ass dad, no question about it. He would probably know exactly what to do and how to do it too. It was hard to imagine him being upset about something that he seemed so entirely destined for. And the potential of building a family with him, a life that was real and long-term and permanent was so incredibly fucking amazing that Mickey surprised himself with how much he liked it. Even after everything, he was still holding out hope for getting Ian any way that he possibly could.

 

So, it couldn't hurt to try.

 

He took a deep breath and opened up the contact. He just started at the text bubble for a long time before holding his breath and typing:

 

_Hey. You busy?_

 

He hit send and squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his phone under his pillow. He actually couldn’t deal with what he had just done. Why had he texted him? It was two months and there were still seven to go for him to decide whether or not to tell him. What was wrong with him? Anxious and freaking out Mickey groaned at the nausea that was starting to come over him. Ian wasn't even going to reply, he was going to get ghosted for sure and that was even worse than whatever potential reaction he might have to the reveal. This had been a mistake. Was there a way to unsend a message? A trip to Chicago seemed worth braving the possibility of landing a life sentence if it meant getting to Ian's phone before he did. But to his surprised, no more than two minutes later his phone buzzed beneath his pillow, making Mickey jolt.

 

_Not really. What’s up?_

 

Mickey sucked in a deep breath, feeling the oxygen fill up inside of him before he released the pressure of him slowly and let the oxygen go up to his brain. He swallowed and pressed the call button.

 

Then he waited. 


End file.
